


Ready to Party, Not.

by scathachs



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4121745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scathachs/pseuds/scathachs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke’s stuck going to a fancy-schmansy soiree with his mother. Unfortunately for him Anders isn’t going, but fortunately for Anders he gets a nice view before they leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready to Party, Not.

**Author's Note:**

> I headcanon diplomatic!hawke is a giant genuine cheeseball when they’re in love and sometimes it’s so tooth-rotting it doesn’t seem real. Abundance of fluff and horribly, horribly schmoozy words because I couldn't stop listening to "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You", be warned yo. For this I'm using my boy Renone Hawke. There's a mention of my Warden Mahariel who romanced Leliana.

"Enjoying the view?" Hawke looked towards Anders through the looking-glass, the mage sat on their bed with his smiling face in his palm.

"You fill that new doublet out well, love. You'll be the talk of the party and more."

"I wish you'd change your mind and come with me; it's not too late to put together an outfit for you. I'll even pay extra for feather pauldrooons." Renone ran the back of his hand over a few feathers as if to be enticing and inched closer to their bed. Anders shook his head with a laugh.

"I doubt the nobles of Kirkwall would welcome a gutter rat like me to a fancy party, plus your mother has been looking forward to this party for months. It’d be cruel to use me instead of her for a plus-one.”

Renone sighed and stepped closer to take Anders’ hand in his; he thumbed over a bony knuckle and pressed his lips to it. "I love mother, but I'd love to show you off more. Especially to Lady Montrachet and Ser Bourget,” he kissed another knuckle, “in the previous party both of them tried to dance with me at the same time.  I'm tired of people throwing themselves at me for money or favors, I'd rather they see me dance with you and know I’m much,” another kiss, “too,” another, “ _busy_."

"My!" Anders teased and stood up, his hand delightfully warm in Hawke’s. "The great Renone Hawke has suitors literally at his feet."

"Oh, don't be jealous." Renone smiled.

Anders grinned and covered his heart as if shocked. "Can you _blame_ me, love? I've heard the Lady Montrachet has an impressive collection of-"

" _Spoons_. Lady Emma Montrachet has a collection of pure silverite spoons Isabela would drool over. And if she tries to grab my ass like last time, I'm going to give Isabela their exact location." Renone huffed and adjusted his sash for the umpteenth time. Everything felt too tight, too light, and way too damn expensive. The mage gave him a once-over and covered Hawke’s fidgeting hands with his. Where Hawke was proper and preened to perfection, Anders looked like a true product of Darktown. The deep red of the doublet brought out the fading green in Anders’ sleeves, the single white-feather pauldron out-shined his by color alone, and if he looked hard enough he could see the grime and faint traces of dried blood on his face through polished gold buttons. Hawke looked like he belonged at the Empress' side, at least, he _would_ if it wasn’t for the grimace that aged his face in years.

The finery tightened around muscles earned from hard labor, from swinging a heavy broadsword and carrying even heavier armor and burden. He knew the nobles would never know that Hawke kept his hair long and braided because it was a way for him and Bethany to bond when they were children, she delighted in working his hair into intricate braids and tying them together to show their parents. It was one of the rare things Carver didn’t hate him for, he preferred his hair short, messy, and unkempt. Less work, so Hawke retold.

To him, this party was nothing more than another battle to get through. Anders worked a crease out from Hawke’s chest and smiled fondly as another face came back to mind.

“You know, you and the Commander have the same face when it comes to going to soirees. Honestly, if it wasn’t for her wife’s urging she would’ve gone in full armor and no shoes.” Anders ran his hands along another stubborn crease and continued. “But, before every party she would get us alone and, not so much _encourage_ us, as _require_ us to make the guests more uncomfortable as the night went on so they’d leave sooner. Velanna and I would take turns making the throne room uncomfortably hot, while Sigrun would recant her stories about the Legion of the Dead with a lot of embellishing. Even Nathaniel participated after a while; the punch bowl was always his favorite target.”

“I can’t imagine Justice approving of this,” for a moment Anders’ skin pulsed blue.

“He didn’t, but he also didn’t stop us. He just gave us all disproving stares and remarks when we got too close to the throne. Really, his presence was enough to scare two nobles out every party.” Anders felt his mind tug when Justice did his equivalent of that same frown. Yet, when he receded back into their shared mind it felt almost playful, or as playful as Justice can get.

“Sounds like fun, like the fun _you’d_ have if you came **_with_** me.” Hawke lowered his head and gently bumped it against Anders’ temple, the mage returned the gesture with a lean of his own. The warrior smelled of fine oils of spring, a stark contrast of his natural musk of aged metal and sunflowers.

They stood together until the crackle of the fire filled their silence, Renone ducked his head into Anders’ hair, taking in his scent of elfroot, lyrium, and something that reminded him of mountains in winter.

“You’ll be here when we come back?” He felt Anders’ calloused hands run through the remaining tangles in his hair and leaned into the touch.

“I’ll be home,” the word still foreign on his lips. “Just make sure Talbot isn’t in front of the cellar door again, I still haven’t forgiven him for leaving bite marks in my coat.”

“You smacked him in the head with the door, love.”

“He was lying right in front of it! If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was trying to keep me out so _he_ could sleep on the bed.” Renone laughed, wrapped his arms around the other man, and leaned down for a kiss.

“Have fun at the party, love. I’ll be here when you come back, and,” Anders sighed playfully as he pulled away, “try not to get engaged more than three times.”

Renone frowned and leaned forward for another. “They’ll have to wait in line.”

Anders laughed through the elation and lightness in his chest, “sap. Go, you’re going to be late.”

 


End file.
